


when skies are gray

by vonseal



Category: ASTRO (Band)
Genre: Angst, Drama, Gangs, Homophobia, Homophobic Language, Hospitals, Hurt/Comfort, Implied Sexual Content, Implied/Referenced Drug Use, M/M, Medical Inaccuracies, Mild Language, Physical Disability, Romance, Unhealthy Relationships
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-11-08
Updated: 2020-11-08
Packaged: 2021-03-09 00:27:34
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 9,993
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/27445633
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/vonseal/pseuds/vonseal
Summary: myungjun's life is no longer the same. with only one hand and a broken heart, he has to learn to get back on his feet. still, he holds onto the hope that one day he will see jinwoo again.
Relationships: Kim Myungjun | MJ/Park Jinwoo | Jin Jin, Lee Dongmin | Cha Eunwoo/Moon Bin, Park Minhyuk | Rocky/Yoon Sanha
Comments: 8
Kudos: 26





	when skies are gray

**Author's Note:**

> i started this while i was writing my only sunshine. in fact, it was supposed to be shorter and also an extra chapter. i didn't think the tone fit, though, but i liked what i wrote, so i titled it "not gonna use" and shelved it. months later, i decided that i could easily turn it into a nice oneshot, and here we are!
> 
> if you have not already, you MUST read [you are my sunshine](https://archiveofourown.org/works/15837123/chapters/36879675) to understand this. and if you haven't read the sequel, [my only sunshine](https://archiveofourown.org/works/20776874/chapters/49372994), i would recommend that, too. the sequel isn't necessary, but it does wrap it all up with even more happiness and fluff!

He wasn’t really listening to whatever it was the doctor said. He didn’t listen to his solemn words, his tone steady from years of delivering bad information. He didn’t listen to all of the medical nonsense that he likely wouldn’t have been able to decipher anyway, nor did he listen when the doctor pointed at the x-ray scan hanging on the wall, a depiction of the bones and nerves, and maybe it wasn’t an x-ray but a CAT scan, or an MRI, but Myungjun wasn’t really certain. All of the tests done to his body had gone by so quickly, and then he was dosed with more medication and stuffed back in bed so the doctors could move on to someone else.

They left him, too. He was forgotten by them, too.

His heart clenched in his chest. He heard his mother say something, voice shrill and loud, but Myungjun didn’t listen to the words. He simply stared at the scan on the wall, lit underneath those lights the doctor had turned on specifically to see the finer details of the scan. It was so weird. It was _his_ hand right there. He turned his gaze down to his hand and stared at the real thing, instead. The scars were unlikely to disappear, so the doctor had told him a few days prior. They had stitched it all up the best they could and all that remained was an ugly mass of medical string and it pussed and oozed sometimes, and sometimes it would bleed again, and Myungjun would scratch it despite the doctor’s warnings, because he couldn’t feel the pain so what was the point? He scratched and tore the stitches as if that would change things.

His father said something next. Myungjun didn’t hear. 

“Myungjun.” His name was called and Myungjun turned away from his hand in order to look over at the doctor, who smiled kindly at him. He was being treated like a child. Wasn’t that typical? He was used to it. He was always treated like a child. “Myungjun, can you move your hand for us?”

Myungjun knew already that he couldn’t move his hand. He knew already something was wrong with it. So he didn’t even try. He just said, “No,” because he didn’t want to move his hand for the doctor, anyway.

The doctor took his word for what it truly meant; Myungjun’s hand wouldn’t move at all, and Myungjun finally listened as he said, “We have to amputate it.”

“Fine,” Myungjun replied, and he heard his mother cry.

**☼ ☼ ☼ ☼ ☼ ☼ ☼ ☼ ☼ ☼ ☼**

Bin was the only one in the room. He had yet to say anything. His eyes were trained on the stump that was left of Myungjun’s hand. Myungjun felt self-conscious about it and he longed to move away from Bin’s piercing gaze, but even if he did move, he knew Bin’s eyes would follow his phantom hand.

The minutes stretched on. Myungjun sat there, staring at the wall in front of him. He wouldn’t sleep. He couldn’t sleep, not unless he pressed his button for more medicine. He didn’t feel like sleeping yet, so he would refrain.

“I have to pee,” he murmured.

Bin stood and hovered over him. Myungjun shot him a glare. “I’m capable of peeing on my own.”

“Your ribs are still broken. Those take weeks to heal. And your concussion isn’t gone yet. That will take a bit, too. And I know your face hurts. It’s…” He trailed off. He didn’t mention the hand.

Myungjun sighed and tossed his covers aside. The hospital gown he wore was too revealing, yet Myungjun was past the point of caring. He slid out of bed, keeping careful watch on his bad arm. His face _did_ hurt, dreadfully so, but that wasn’t nearly as bad as everything else. 

“The doctor said there could be lasting side effects from...from what he did to you,” Bin said, voice quiet.

Myungjun grit his teeth down, though he regretted such a motion. Nerves of pain shot up through his jaw, and he struggled not to show the agony he felt. “Shut up.”

Bin did shut up, fortunately, and Myungjun grabbed onto the bed when he realized how dizzy he was. Bin hurried forward and, once again, hovered right over him.

“Get away,” Myungjun snapped, and Bin listened. Bin listened well. He was the only one who did, really, because Myungjun’s parents held onto him to help him move and Sanha was fine with getting elbowed if it meant his brother wouldn’t fall and Minhyuk only ever listened to Sanha, anyway. Bin, though, Bin would listen to him. Bin always listened to him.

Myungjun went to the bathroom and shut the door behind him. His breath came out in shuddering gasps, but he tried to keep silent so Bin couldn’t tell. 

Peeing with one hand was difficult. It was hard to push aside the medical gown and keep it out of the way while hovering over the toilet, and Myungjun blinked back tears when he finally finished. 

He washed his hand. His one hand, because that’s all he had left, and he allowed it to rest underneath the spray of hot water.

He felt his other arm twitch. It was involuntary to put both hands under the water, and his body wanted that movement. It wanted both hands washed. It had yet to get the memo that it was only in control of one hand.

It was then that he dared to look at himself in the mirror. His bruises were fading, but only slightly. His face still retained the nasty wounds inflicted on him by that man, whoever he was. All Myungjun could remember was being punched, over and over and over again, the demand of, “Where’s Jinwoo?” ringing in his ears.

_Where’s Jinwoo? Where’s Jinwoo? Where’s Jinwoo?_

He should be here. _He_ should be the one hovering over Myungjun’s bed, not Bin, and _he_ should be the one staring at him sadly, not Bin. 

Myungjun’s lip quivered and he looked down, away from the mirror, away from his ruined face. The water still ran over his good hand, and Myungjun allowed the sink to hide the sounds of his tears as they fell.

**☼ ☼ ☼ ☼ ☼ ☼ ☼ ☼ ☼ ☼ ☼**

He was to be released tomorrow, so the doctor said. He was given a slip of paper, a reference to a physical therapist he could call, but he had already decided he wouldn’t attend therapy. There wasn’t a point, really, because he wouldn’t ever be allowed to cook again. Chefs with one hand likely didn’t exist. There were probably none of them in the world.

Bin was determined to prove him wrong, and he eagerly pulled up an article about a one-handed chef. “His name is Michael Caines,” Bin said, reading from his phone, “and he lost his hand in a car accident but he’s still been named the top chef of Britain. Look.” He showed a picture to Myungjun, but Myungjun chose not to look. “Myungjun, look, he’s got one of those prosthetic limbs. You can probably get one of those, too.”

Myungjun stared over at the door of his hospital room. He couldn’t wait to get out of the gown.

“Hey,” Bin suddenly said, and he gestured to the gloves Myungjun had stored away on a table in the room. “When did those get here?”

“My second night,” Myungjun responded. “Jinwoo dropped them off.”

Bin gave a sharp intake of breath. “Jinwoo was here? At night?” When Myungjun nodded, he asked, “Was anyone else here, or was it just you and Jinwoo?”

Maybe if someone else was there, they could have stopped Jinwoo from leaving. Maybe they could have blocked the door and Jinwoo would be forced to stay. Myungjun wished he would have stayed willingly, in any case.

“Just me and Jinwoo,” Myungjun said.

“Did he do anything to you?”

Myungjun shook his head, though that wasn’t quite true, because Jinwoo had broken his heart. Jinwoo had taken his heart and snapped it in two and then tossed the pieces aside when he left. Myungjun struggled not to cry, and he didn’t look over at Bin, even as Bin huffed angrily.

“Sanha told me he’s a gang member. Is that true?”

“ _Was_ ,” Myungjun whispered. “He _was_ a gang member.”

Maybe it was for the best that Jinwoo left. He could finally toss aside his old friends and start a new life for himself, a life where he wasn’t a criminal and a villain, a life that was brand new for him. Maybe, then, Myungjun was simply part of his old life, the catalyst that helped him to change.

No, Jinwoo would have changed without him. Myungjun was just there to speed it along.

Bin blocked his view, that piercing gaze back. “Jun,” he hissed, anger seeping through his words. Myungjun watched him. “If that...if that fucking _demon_ comes back, I’ll kill him. I’m going to kill him for doing this to you.”

Myungjun wanted to defend Jinwoo because _he hadn’t done anything_ , but then he thought of his broken heart and of his ruined hand and he wondered if maybe Jinwoo had done _something_. He was weak, for he nodded his head, and gave Bin permission to murder the one man he loved more than anything.

**☼ ☼ ☼ ☼ ☼ ☼ ☼ ☼ ☼ ☼ ☼**

Jinwoo didn’t come back.

Myungjun waited for him, day after day. Myungjun called his number relentlessly, too, leaving voicemails on the machine that was turned off, until one day it wasn’t turned off and some older man answered with a, “Hello?” 

So Jinwoo was gone, just like that. In a single sweep he had come and turned Myungjun’s life inside out, and then he vanished. He left Myungjun behind in a broken and crumbled heap.

Myungjun longed for him.

As Bin watered the plants in his room, Myungjun, buried in his covers, said, “Jinwoo never listened to me.”

Bin stopped and looked at Myungjun.

“You listen to me most of the time,” Myungjun said. “I order you to do something and you do it. And I know it’s because you think I’m an invalid. Don’t deny it.” Bin didn’t deny it. Myungjun’s heart ached. “And I didn’t...I didn’t exactly order Jinwoo around. I told him _it’s fine_ . You know how stupid I sounded, Bin? He would smoke weed and I’d say, _it’s fine_ . He would go on drug deals and I’d say, _it’s fine_ . He would make me have sex with him when I didn’t feel like having sex with him and it would hurt and he’d ask me if it hurt and he always looked so worried for me, and I’d say, _it’s fine_.” Myungjun gave a deep, shuddering breath and whispered, “But he knew it wasn’t fine.”

“I’ll kill him,” Bin promised.

But Myungjun didn’t think he wanted Jinwoo dead anymore. He would just be happy if he had Jinwoo back in his arms. Because if Jinwoo came back, he really would change, and it wouldn’t be _fine_ anymore. 

**☼ ☼ ☼ ☼ ☼ ☼ ☼ ☼ ☼ ☼ ☼**

“It shouldn’t affect me so much,” Myungjun said to Bin as they drove away from physical therapy.

Bin didn’t know what he was talking about at first. “The...therapy? I thought your arm was doing better.”

“No. Jinwoo leaving me.” 

Bin tensed, as he always did when Myungjun brought up Jinwoo. Myungjun didn’t care, though, so he continued, “I want him back, Bin.”

“I’ll kill him if he comes back.”

“Shut up.” Myungjun leaned against the window and closed his eyes. “I only dated him for a few months. Why does it hurt so much that he left?”

“Because he’s an asshole.”

Poor Jinwoo. Myungjun realized he was damned if he stayed and damned if he left. He had made himself an enemy regardless of his decisions and he had done so because he was scared.

Myungjun squeezed at his eyes, trying to stop any tears that were struggling to be released. Jinwoo had no one left by his side. He had cast aside the gang and he had cast aside Myungjun. He was completely alone in the world.

“What if he does something horrible?” Myungjun asked. “What if he kills himself?”

“Good riddance.”

“He’s all alone, Bin.” Myungjun sniffled and then wiped at his eyes. The tears fell despite his best efforts and he cried out, “He’s alone and I want him with me! Bin, I miss him! I love him!”

Bin said nothing, but as Myungjun sobbed, he tightened his grip on the steering wheel.

**☼ ☼ ☼ ☼ ☼ ☼ ☼ ☼ ☼ ☼ ☼**

Dongmin praised Myungjun when he finished chopping a carrot. “Good job!” he said, the tone of his voice more suited for a dog or a child than for an adult man. Myungjun wanted to scream. “Can you try another one?”

His arm was throbbing. It itched for a hand to add to the end of its stump. It itched for his body to be whole again.

“Sure,” he said, even though he wanted to sit down and ice his arm like the doctor told him to. But if he kept icing it, he would never make it anywhere in life. He refused to be waited on by people who coddled him, and so he grabbed another carrot and worked on that one, too, holding it down with the stump of his arm and chopping it well with the other hand.

“I won’t chop my fingers off, at least,” he joked. 

“That’s not funny.”

“You didn’t lose a hand, Dongmin. You don’t get to tell me what’s funny and what isn’t.” He finished the second carrot and gently deposited the pieces into a bowl. 

Dongmin said nothing in relation to the joke. He did ask, “Did you have fun on your date?”

“No.” Myungjun grabbed another carrot. “Because he started with, _I heard your ex-boyfriend was a gang member who hurt you. I’m sorry_.” He glanced over at Dongmin who met his stare evenly. “Bin threatens Jinwoo with death every other day, but at least he doesn’t spread stupid rumors.”

“Well he _was_ a gang member.”

“And you were a stuck-up brat in high school and bullied kids until you met Bin and shaped up,” Myungjun snapped at him. 

Dongmin sighed. “I’ve changed since—”

“So did Jinwoo. He was nothing but kind to me.”

“Bin told me he had sex with you when you didn’t want to have sex.”

“It was because I said nothing to him about it.” Myungjun grabbed another carrot. “How many carrots did you even buy?”

Dongmin didn’t answer and so Myungjun glared at him. “Shut up about Jinwoo. You don’t know shit about him.”

**☼ ☼ ☼ ☼ ☼ ☼ ☼ ☼ ☼ ☼ ☼**

Sanha hovered uselessly.

“I can carry that,” he would offer if Myungjun dared even try to run a bowl of ramen out to one of the tables. “You don’t have to strain yourself.”

And how could he fuss at Sanha? He found it difficult to raise his voice to his baby brother, who was only trying to help. Instead, he would comply, and Sanha would snatch the bowl from Myungjun’s good hand and take it out himself.

When Myungjun tried to cook, he was right by Myungjun’s side, too, watching with concern as Myungjun would fumble with his knife. “I can chop,” he would offer. Sometimes Myungjun would glower, and he’d be quick to add, “I know you’ve been practicing, but…”

“Dongmin says I’ve gotten very good.”

“You have!” Sanha would confirm, nodding his head frantically. “But...I mean, it’s dangerous.”

Myungjun ignored him and began dicing an onion. The onion fell multiple times. His cuts were choppy and uneven. Apparently, he could only cut carrots well.

When the onion rolled onto the floor and Myungjun nearly sliced open his stump hand, Sanha forcibly pushed him out of the way.

“I got it!” he assured, and the pity was clear in his gaze. “You go take a break!”

Myungjun didn’t say anything. He let Sanha coddle him, as if _he_ was the baby brother. _Oh, Myungjun, please don’t hold so many groceries like that. Oh, Myungjun, let me handle putting stuff in the pot, it’s hot. Oh, Myungjun, you’re in the way, please sit down._

Myungjun watched the others run the restaurant without his help. 

He often felt his stress manifest itself in crazy ways. He suffered through migraines. His skin broke out. He threw up on occasion, when the restaurant was empty and he was the only person there.

And, when he could no longer take the stress, he would blurt out controversial statements to Sanha.

“You know,” he once said as Sanha pushed him away again, “Jinwoo would let me do all of this.”

Sanha faltered. “Huh?”

“Jinwoo,” Myungjun repeated, noticing the way his brother flinched. “Jinwoo knew how capable I was. Even with my hand gone, he’d probably still let me chop.” 

Sanha said nothing. Sanha focused his attention on his bok choy.

“I mean, even Dongmin understands my capabilities enough to allow me the chance to cook. Jinwoo would do even _more_ . Jinwoo would let me do _everything_ in the restaurant. He would stand back and wouldn’t push me aside.”

Sanha glanced at Myungjun, then boldly asked, “Isn’t that what he did, anyway?”

Myungjun’s skin was clammy. “What do you mean?”

“He left. He stood back. He left.”

Myungjun wasn’t quite sure how to respond to that. He looked down at the sleeve draped over his arm, at his stump hidden away behind a layer of fabric. Jinwoo _had_ left him. Jinwoo had seen his disgusting arm and had decided he wouldn’t push Myungjun aside.

He had stood back. He had let Myungjun do _everything_ on his own.

Myungjun stood suddenly and nudged Sanha aside. “Gimme that,” he snapped, grasping for the knife.

“No!” Sanha held it away. “Myungjun, it’s dangerous--”

“It’s _not_ dangerous! I can do this!” Myungjun cried out. But Sanha wouldn’t relinquish his knife, and Sanha was taller.

Myungjun quickly grabbed another knife and began to chop the vegetables, just as he had learned how to do.

Sanha didn’t seem content with that. “Myungjun, it’s only been a few months. I think you should rest it just--”

“How much longer?”

“I don’t know! But you’re rushing into this. You’re trying to prove to us you’re fine. And you’re not fine, not really. I know you aren’t.”

Sanha had heard him cry. Sanha had heard him wail. Sanha _knew_ just how terribly Myungjun was feeling.

But Myungjun had to prove to everyone that he was better, that he could continue to get better. He had to keep chopping up the vegetables, because only then would people believe him and accept him.

He diced harder. He held down a carrot with his stump arm and cut.

He sliced through his arm and was taken back to the hospital, where a tutting doctor informed him, “You need to rest, Myungjun. Let your brother handle things.”

And so Myungjun hovered uselessly.

**☼ ☼ ☼ ☼ ☼ ☼ ☼ ☼ ☼ ☼ ☼**

“I’m fine,” Myungjun informed Bin, dropping some pork into his skillet. “Look, I’ve been cutting all of this now.”

Bin _didn’t_ look. Bin raised his eyebrows and glanced over at Minhyuk, who pointedly looked away.

“Hey,” Bin called to Minhyuk, “what’s with _that_ expression?”

“I don’t know what you’re talking about,” Minhyuk muttered, looking down at the ticket he had brought. “Myungjun, they want the ramen special.”

“The whole table?”

“Yeah. Bin, get off your ass and help him.”

Myungjun felt a stab of anger. “I don’t need help,” he muttered, though he was already a bit panicked under the large amount of tickets coming in.

No one ever listened to him much, though. Bin stood and began to help. It was honestly nice to _have_ the help, to have Bin silently do as Myungjun requested. Bin didn’t look upon him in pity anymore, nor did Bin push him aside to do the harder parts of cooking. Bin acted as support, as everyone else had done in the past. Myungjun flourished in that situation. He got the special ramen and sent it out, then glanced at his friend.

“I’m fine,” Myungjun repeated. “See? Look at all this. I did this.”

“I helped,” Bin mumbled, but then he added, “I mean, I know you’re physically fine. You’re making great progress. Everyone is super proud of you.”

Myungjun nodded his head, already knowing what was about to come next.

“But what about _emotionally?_ I know what...what _he_ did to you is--”

“You don’t have to say his name like that, Bin,” Myungjun sighed, rolling his eyes. “You can just say _he_ normally. Or, use his name. Jinwoo. He’s got a nice name. I’ve always loved his name. I called him Jinnie, you know. Super cute. He called me Sunshine. I think Sunshine is cuter.”

Bin glared, but not at Myungjun. He glared at the floor, and at the walls, and at the skillet, and at the pot of broth.

“Oh, god,” Myungjun snapped. “Stop acting like a child.”

“I just...I don’t understand. He treated you terribly! He let you get hurt and abused, he did drugs and was in a gang and raped you.”

“He did _not_ rape me, you moron.”

“You said he--”

“I...look, I wasn’t thinking. I wasn’t...I mean…” Myungjun cleared his throat. He felt rather hot, what with all the steam rising from his various pots and pans, but also from the accusation of what Jinwoo had done. How could he explain himself better?

“It wasn’t anything like that,” he finally said. “I consented. I was uncomfortable, and perhaps he should’ve picked up on that, but I said yes. He asked, and I kept saying yes. If anything, that’s my fault. I’m the idiot.”

Bin finally looked over at him and pursed his lips. “That’s what I don’t understand. You _aren’t_ an idiot. But you were so blindly in love that you ignored a lot of bad things he had done.”

For once, Myungjun couldn’t necessarily disagree with Bin. He could only nod his head and mutter, “Yeah, I guess. That’s true.”

It was true.

He had been blind to Jinwoo’s actions because of his love.

He sighed and sat on his stool, stirring away at a pot of ramen. What else was there to say? What else was there to do?

“I don’t...I don’t care,” he found himself continuing. He was surprised at the words coming from his mouth. “I don’t care that I was blind, though. I think I’d love him all over again.”

Bin swallowed thickly. Myungjun could see his eyes dart nervously back to him. “Myungjun--” Bin started.

But Myungjun smiled and placed a hand over Bin’s. “Hey,” he whispered, “I’ll be fine.”

Bin said nothing. Bin didn’t believe him.

**☼ ☼ ☼ ☼ ☼ ☼ ☼ ☼ ☼ ☼ ☼**

He stared at his laptop, at the glowing, white screen illuminating the darkened room. The search had yielded no results. Or, rather, the search had yielded no _worthwhile_ results. And why would it? Typing in _Park Jinwoo_ was sure to give him a million names of a million people. It would be difficult to narrow it down to just _one_ person.

He tried a few other searches.

_Park Jinwoo gang._

_Park Jinwoo gang member._

_Park Jinwoo photographer gang._

_Park Jinwoo is a fucking bastard and I’m so pissed he left me like this and I want him back just so I can punch his stupid nose and kick him in the shins and ask--_

“No,” Myungjun muttered, deleting his searches. He closed his laptop and rolled over in his bed, placing his stump arm on his chest. 

He could feel his hand, sometimes. He felt it right then. It was warm. He splayed open his fingers and gripped his own shirt. He could feel _everything_ , but when he moved, the sensation disappeared, and he was left with an ugly stump where that hand ought to be.

If Jinwoo had stayed, Jinwoo would hold his ugly stump. Jinwoo would love him regardless of his ugly stump. Jinwoo would kiss his ugly stump. 

A lump formed in Myungjun’s throat and he rolled over again, the laptop digging uncomfortably into his side. He gripped at his pillow and squeezed his eyes shut.

It had been a year, and he still couldn’t get Jinwoo out of his mind. They hadn’t even dated that long, in the grand scheme of things. Dongmin was adamant that he ought to have forgotten about Jinwoo by now.

“After all,” Dongmin had said, “I forgot about _my_ relationships a month or two after having been in them.”

Myungjun had snapped, “That’s because you only dated people to mess with them, you manipulative creep,” and that shut Dongmin up.

Bin had slightly more helpful advice. “He was your first and only boyfriend, so far. He’ll take a while to forget. Not to mention, he was the reason your hand…” Bin had trailed off, and Myungjun had glared at him. 

So he could wait his feelings out. He decided to bide his time and see if the feelings would fade over time.

Or, he could linger on them.

He grabbed his laptop and opened it.

 _Park Jinwoo Kim Myungjun Gang_ , he typed.

He would linger.

**☼ ☼ ☼ ☼ ☼ ☼ ☼ ☼ ☼ ☼ ☼**

The morning was cool and brisk. Myungjun quite enjoyed the changing of the seasons. He couldn’t wait for spring; it was a period of regrowth, of rebirth. He intended to enjoy every second of the flowers blooming and the birds singing.

He walked down the street, nodding and smiling to a few people he passed. He kept his sleeve covering his stump arm; for once, he understood Jinwoo’s frustration with short-sleeves. Whenever he wore short-sleeves, people would stare. Some people would comment. Some people grimaced. Some people gasped. Once, a young child asked, “Are you a pirate?”

Actually, he didn’t mind so much the reaction of the child. Children were sweet and innocent. The child meant no harm by asking; in fact, the child’s mother drew more attention to Myungjun’s arm by grabbing her child and whispering, “We don’t say things like that to the disabled.”

Myungjun snorted as he neared _The Star_. Disabled. Yeah. Right. That’s what he was now. Nothing but a disabled man. 

His mood was plummeting. He tried to think of happier things, of the flowers that would soon bloom and the birds that would soon sing and the small group of men laughing and pushing each other nearby.

Myungjun smiled politely to them, but they didn’t respond. One scoffed at him, and another rolled his eyes. A third took a drag on his cigarette before commenting, in a very familiar voice, “Hey there, kid.”

Familiar.

Damn, he was familiar.

Myungjun halted in his steps and stared, eyes narrowed, openly gawking. Oddly enough, the man stared back.

The man’s eyes widened before Myungjun’s did.

“You!” the man exclaimed, pointing. He kept pointing and snapping his finger and exclaimed, “Oh, fuck, what’s your name? I don’t remember.”

Ah. Myungjun blinked. “You’re...you’re Jinwoo’s friend?”

The man nodded his head frantically. “You’re his gay boy-toy, aren’t ya?”

“His boyfriend,” Myungjun replied, dryly. “I’m his boyfriend.” Or, rather, _was_ his boyfriend, but he didn’t feel quite ready to explain that issue. “What was your name?”

“Youngsoo,” the man responded. His other two friends looked on with confusion and interest until Youngsoo nudged them. “Hey, fuck off. I gotta talk to this fruitcake for a bit.”

“Didn’t we smash his shop?” one of the guys asked, pointing over to _The Star._ “It was a while ago, but he hasn’t paid--”

“I said fuck off. Go suck a dick, Jaeha,” Youngsoo snapped, pushing his friends away. When it was clear they weren’t going to leave, Youngsoo rolled his eyes and began hurrying away, gesturing for Myungjun to follow. Myungjun did, only after hesitating for a bit. The two friends catcalled after him and one called out, “Have fun fucking your new fag, Youngsoo!”

Myungjun tried to calm the fear beating in his chest. The last time he had been so close to a gang member, he had gotten his face pummeled and his ribs broken and his hand amputated. He reminded himself that Youngsoo always seemed rather kind to Jinwoo, that Youngsoo wouldn’t harm him, but he still gripped his cellphone, wondering how fast he could call the police if the situation arose.

Youngsoo finally stopped once he was far enough from his friends. They stood in front of _The Star_. Youngsoo eyed it as he continued to smoke. “Business doing good?” he asked.

Myungjun nodded his head.

“Nice, nice. I told ‘em to lay off your shop.” Youngsoo smoked again. “They can attack any other shop around here, but not yours.”

“Why?” Myungjun asked.

“Ah shit, I feel bad.”

There was silence. Myungjun cocked his head. “Why?” he repeated.

Youngsoo cleared his throat. “I mean...it’s kinda my fault you got the shit beat outta you. Jinwoo said you went to the hospital. Um...you okay?”

Myungjun stared at him. He was never sure of the specifics, exactly. All he knew was that someone was looking for Jinwoo and beat him up when Jinwoo would not appear. 

He asked, “How was it your fault?”

Youngsoo looked surprised. “Jinwoo never told you?”

“No.”

“I…” He cursed and dropped his cigarette, grounding it out with the heel of his shoe. Myungjun made a mental note to pick it up later; he hated litter in front of his shop. “So the guy had come after me first. He wasn’t looking for Jinwoo; he was looking for Taewoong. I said...look, I was scared. I told him he should go to Jinwoo. I told him Jinwoo knew. I mean, I knew, too, but…” Youngsoo ran his fingers through his hair. “The guilt’s been eating me alive. But at least you’re okay.”

Ah, so it was _his_ fault. Myungjun could put all of the blame onto Youngsoo if he wanted. But then he wondered what had happened in Youngsoo’s life to drive him to the gang. Jinwoo had been young when he joined; Youngsoo was a bit older, but not by much. Had he come from a rough family life? Was the gang his only solace? Was he heavily in debt and found no way out of the rabbit hole he had dug for himself? He looked so nervous and so guilty. And he had always cared enough about Jinwoo; Jinwoo always praised him for being kind and attentive.

Myungjun cleared his throat. “Got my hand amputated,” he replied.

Youngsoo turned pale. “What?”

And so Myungjun showed him his disgusting, ugly stump. Youngsoo looked frightened and Myungjun was quick to say, “It’s fine. I’m...I’m dealing with it.”

“Shit, kid, I’m so sorry. Jinwoo only told me you were in the hospital and that’s it. He didn’t tell me anything else.”

Youngsoo and Jinwoo were friends; that was right. This could be Myungjun’s ticket to finding the man he still loved with all his heart.

“Do...do you still talk to Jinwoo?” he asked.

“No, not since...you know. That night.” Youngsoo swallowed thickly. “How is he?”

Myungjun’s mouth felt dry. He looked away. So much for that. The hope he had felt upon finding Youngsoo was dashed to bits. 

“He’s...I don’t know. He left me.” Saying it hurt. He already thought it enough; why the hell did he have to say it? “He visited me in the hospital the night I was injured and then he left. I...I don’t know where he went.”

“Fuck,” Youngsoo breathed. He looked guilty again. “Look, kid, I’m...I didn’t mean to do that. Fuck, I ruined shit didn’t I? I’m so sorry.”

Myungjun shrugged his shoulders, half-heartedly accepting the apology.

Youngsoo kept talking, rambling, “He called me and cussed me out. Told me never to speak to him again. He must’ve blocked me. I tried calling him a few times to apologize but I never heard back from him.”

Myungjun had a lump in his throat. He tried to swallow past it. He couldn’t. 

“He must’ve run away. He paid off his debts and ran. Shit.” Youngsoo took another cigarette out of his pocket. He offered one to Myungjun, who shook his head in refusal. “Maybe he became a fisherman.”

Myungjun blinked. “A...a what?”

“Fisherman. Ya know, someone who goes out and fishes for fish?”

“I know what a fisherman is.”

“Yeah, well, he mentioned wanting to become one. Said life would be simple as a fisherman. I told him he could find some mermaids and fuck ‘em. That’s what I would do as a fisherman.”

“Oh.” Myungjun wasn’t sure what else to say.

Youngsoo shrugged his shoulders. “But I don’t know where he went. Shit. I’m sorry. Wish I knew.” He glanced back at his friends and hesitated briefly. “Can I pay you back somehow for that hand? How much was it?”

Myungjun sighed. “A lot.”

“I don’t have a lot.”

“I figured that much.”

“Tell you what, I’ll keep letting the gang know not to wreck your shop, ‘kay? That’s the least I can do.”

“It really is.”

“And I know some great gay bars if you ever wanna go over there to, ya know.” He made a lewd gesture and grinned, Jinwoo’s departure already behind him. “Sorry again, kid. Didn’t mean for anything bad to happen.”

He left without another word, jogging down the street to catch up with his friends. One of them laughed as he came near and called out to Myungjun, “See ya, fag!” Youngsoo laughed and shoved him, but didn’t look back as they walked away.

Myungjun bit his lip and stared at the ground, mind reeling from the information he had learned.

A fisherman, huh?

**☼ ☼ ☼ ☼ ☼ ☼ ☼ ☼ ☼ ☼ ☼**

“It makes sense to open up a ramen joint near the coast,” Myungjun explained to his father and mother. “Seafood ramen is already a speciality of ours. Koreans love seafood. If we open near the coast, we can offer _fresh_ seafood!”

Myungjun’s father sighed. “It’s not a horrible idea,” he murmured, “but I’m getting too old to be opening up a new restaurant. I have enough on my plate with this one here.”

“I can open up the new one,” Myungjun responded.

His mother glanced at his hand; it was a quick look, but Myungjun noticed it. “Honey,” she started, “are you sure you’re ready?”

Myungjun sat down at the table across from them. “Well, it’ll take a while to open it, anyway. I have to figure out where it’ll go, and I’ll have to take out some business loans and set up shop and figure out where I’ll get my supplies from. I’m...I’m mostly okay now, but it’ll take a couple of years. I’ll be one hundred percent in a couple of years.”

He wouldn’t be. His parents knew as much. They exchanged glances with each other. There was worry in their gazes, concern, and Myungjun’s father was the first to break the silence.

“Are you still looking for your boyfriend?”

Myungjun blinked. “How did you know?”

“Sanha, um...Sanha used your laptop the other day. He told me about your searches.”

Myungjun’s searches had turned from simplistic into a bit more detailed: _Park Jinwoo gang member fisherman_.

Myungjun wasn’t quite sure how to respond to that.

“How do you know he’s a fisherman, Myungjun?”

“I…” Myungjun looked down at the table. His search results had not yielded anything. Youngsoo was an idiot; Jinwoo always claimed he was high more often than not, and drunk when he wasn’t high. Was he reporting things correctly? And even if Jinwoo had wanted, at one point, to become a fisherman, there was a heavy possibility that Jinwoo had taken a different path. He had enough money to become anything he wanted; would he run to the coast and become a fisherman?

But Myungjun had spoken of moving to the coast, of opening up a seafood ramen place. He thought he could see some hope in Jinwoo’s eyes with that dream. He thought Jinwoo was moved, even if he didn’t admit it.

He was hinging his entire life plan on Jinwoo _maybe_ having become a fisherman in one of the hundreds of coastal cities Korea had to offer. It was a stupid life plan. He was being an idiot. Why couldn’t he move on? Why couldn’t he forget?

“I don’t know,” he finally responded, both to his own internal questions and those posed by his father.

His father looked disappointed. Myungjun didn’t want him to look disappointed.

“But I’m not doing it for Jinwoo.”

“You aren’t?”

“I mean, it started because of Jinwoo, and maybe I’m hoping to find him along the way--”

“Why do you still want him?” his mother asked, desperate to understand.

But Myungjun didn’t even understand his own feelings. He was disconnected from his heart; it chose its own path and refused to listen as the rest of him fought against it. He wanted to find Jinwoo. He wanted to love Jinwoo. He didn’t know why. Jinwoo had willingly run away. Jinwoo had willingly tossed his love aside. Did Jinwoo deserve to be found?

Myungjun swallowed thickly and looked at the floor. His parents had nice tiles for their kitchen floor. It made the place feel more homey, as if it wasn’t already homey enough.

His mother sighed when Myungjun refused to answer. His father also sighed.

“We’ll look into opening on the coast,” he muttered.

Myungjun glanced up, his eyes shining. “Really?”

His father nodded his head, then shrugged at his wife. “I was thinking of expanding anyway. And he made some good points.” And then, quieter, he whispered, “Even if it’s away to find Jinwoo, he won’t succeed. Jinwoo left and doesn’t want to be found.”

Myungjun pretended not to hear.

**☼ ☼ ☼ ☼ ☼ ☼ ☼ ☼ ☼ ☼ ☼**

There were several places along the coast that offered fresh fish. More than several places. Dozens upon dozens. It depended which beach he wanted to go to. It depended which city he wanted to go to. It depended which region he wanted to go to.

He would never find Jinwoo on his own.

“Which is why,” he told Dongmin, finishing his woe and pitiful tale with flourish, “I need you to do a bit of research for me.”

Dongmin shook his head. “No.”

“Why not?”

“Just because I’m a government employee doesn’t mean I have records on random men who disappeared from your life and started a new life in god-knows-where.” Dongmin narrowed his eyes. “You do realize he might not even be in Korea anymore. He might be in China. Or Japan. You said he got a lot of money right before he left--”

“That’s true.”

“--and you won’t explain how--”

“No reason to do so.”

“--and he might’ve taken his illegal earnings--”

“Never said it was illegal.”

“--and flown off to be far away from his past.”

Myungjun frowned. He glared at Dongmin from across the table. Dongmin seemed rather used to such a look by now.

“Don’t you think Jinwoo would try to go elsewhere?” Dongmin asked, trying to prove his point.

 _Yes_ . Myungjun _did_ think so. Myungjun thought that Jinwoo would choose the farthest place from their life in Seoul. Where would that be? Somewhere in America, perhaps? Canada? France? Maybe an island somewhere, undetected?

That little voice nagged him. _Jinwoo is gone, Jinwoo is gone, Jinwoo is gone, Jinwoo is gone and you’ll never find him again_. The little voice was smart. The little voice knew what it was talking about.

Myungjun lowered his gaze. “Okay,” he mumbled.

Dongmin sounded pleased with himself when he said, “I’m glad we were able to have this conversation, Myungjun.”

As he paid the check, Myungjun made a mental note: _check Busan first, I guess._

**☼ ☼ ☼ ☼ ☼ ☼ ☼ ☼ ☼ ☼ ☼**

Coastal air was always different from the air in Seoul. Myungjun was tired of breathing in fumes, and he only recognized that as he and Sanha neared the beach.

Sanha was excited. “Can we find an actual beach, not just a fishing port, and play in the water?”

“That’s not why we’re here,” Myungjun pointed out.

“Yeah, well, it’s boring if we just look around.”

Myungjun had already dragged Sanha all across the downtown area. It was small and quaint, somewhere he could see a ramen shop operating. But what it all hinged on, really, was whether or not Jinwoo could be nearby. Myungjun wanted to do a quick survey of the fishing port, of markets closeby, and determine whether or not his ex-boyfriend of three years was living in this city.

When Myungjun didn’t respond right away to Sanha’s quip, his brother sighed. “Is this about Jinwoo?”

“No.”

“You answered that too fast.”

Myungjun shot him a glare. Sanha smiled that conniving little grin.

“Sorry,” he apologized. “I mean, I’m totally down with opening a new restaurant. You deserve it, and I think you’ll have fun living on the coast. But if this is all a big plot to get Jinwoo back--”

“Which it isn’t.”

“Right. But if it _is_ , then how do you know he’s still waiting for you?”

Myungjun didn’t know. Myungjun knew absolutely nothing. And that’s what was killing him. He missed Jinwoo so much; he just wanted to see him once more, at least, to ensure his happiness, to ensure he hadn’t done something drastic. Jinwoo’s emotions were tumultuous. His life was miserable. What if he felt he had nothing to live for? What if he died years ago and Myungjun would never know?

It was the not knowing that hurt Myungjun so bad.

Sanha rephrased his question. “Why are _you_ still waiting for _him?_ ”

“I’m not,” Myungjun answered.

“You haven’t been on any dates for a while. You’re clearly not interested in anyone else. You weren’t with Jinwoo for that long, even.”

All valid points. All points Myungjun constantly told himself. All points _everyone_ constantly told him. There was no reason for it, not really. There was nothing logical about Myungjun’s decision to traverse the shores of Korea in search of a man who had left him with such finality. Who was he fooling? 

“Well,” Myungjun muttered. He cleared his throat and stared out over at the ocean. Was this what Jinwoo now saw every single day? Did he take a boat out to sea and gaze out at the never-ending waters? Did he contemplate life and death? Did he wonder how his life, so small and insignificant to the rest of the world, had created a tsunami within Myungjun’s heart?

Sanha was awaiting an answer. Myungjun didn’t want to give him one. It was too personal, too deep, too confusing.

He took a deep breath and said, “Let’s keep looking around. Gotta make sure this place is perfect for another restaurant.”

Sanha watched him closely after that.

**☼ ☼ ☼ ☼ ☼ ☼ ☼ ☼ ☼ ☼ ☼**

Myungjun looked down at the child wrapped around his legs. “I love you, Dohun,” he stated, “but Uncle Myungjun can’t walk if you keep doing that.”

Dohun giggled before releasing Myungjun. “I saw a doggy today!” he exclaimed.

Myungjun walked into the apartment and closed the door behind him. “Really?”

“Yeah! He was white and fluffy!”

Myungjun ruffled little Dohun’s hair, then glanced around the corner and down a small hallway. “Myungok!” he called out. “I’m here!”

His older sister poked her head out of the nursery and sighed. “Oh, thank god,” she muttered. She was holding her youngest child, a sweet daughter with adorably round eyes. “I think I’m doing being a mother.”

“Are you kidding?” Myungjun asked, hurrying forward and reaching out to take his niece. “You’re the best mom around.”

She passed young Dohee over with little concern. Myungjun had learned how to hold children, even with a hand missing. He was a bit more careful and kept a tighter hold of them with the hand he did have, but it was easy after some practice.

“Yeah, well this one won’t take her nap,” Myungok fussed, pointing at Dohee. “And _this_ one--” she turned her wrath onto Dohun, who grinned innocently up at her, “--is terrorizing me. He wants to play at the park.”

Myungjun laughed. “And which one would you rather do, Sis?”

She was sheepish as she responded, “Honestly, if I could get Dohee to sleep, I might be able to take a nap, too.”

“And Hyunmok is…?” Myungjun started.

“Working. He’s on a conference call.” She gestured at her bedroom. The door was closed. “He’s been helping out a lot, even with his job as busy as it is. I’m just a bit more frazzled than I thought I would be.”

As if on cue, though, the bedroom door opened. Her husband grinned when he saw Myungjun.

“Hey!” he greeted, hurrying forward and enveloping Myungjun in a weird hug, making sure to mind Dohee. “How are you, Jun?”

“Fine,” Myungjun responded.

“How goes the restaurant business? Sanha told us you’re looking to open up near the coast!”

When Myungok narrowed her eyes, Myungjun realized Sanha had also told about his desire to see Jinwoo once again. He wondered how to best navigate what would likely become a tricky discussion. 

“Yeah, well...you know. The coast is where it’s at now.”

Hyunmok nodded his head. “Man, I’d love to live on the coast. I’d live in Wando County, in those islands down there. It looks beautiful. Lots of fishing, too, so you’d always have fresh fish supplied.”

Myungjun blinked. 

Islands?

Why didn’t he think of that?

Islands were perfect. They were still in Korea, but separated from the rest of society. Many of them had smaller populations, people who kept to themselves, hardened fishermen who wouldn’t talk much but to their small group of colleagues.

If Jinwoo would go to any coast, it would be an island coast.

As if recognizing Myungjun’s sudden thought, Myungok sighed. “Myungjun,” she started.

Myungjun cut her off. “Why don’t you put Dohee to sleep?” he suggested. “I’ll take Dohun to the park. We’ll be back in an hour or two, ‘kay?”

As he passed over his niece, Myungok warned, “Don’t be impulsive, Myungjun. Remember what happened the first time you were impulsive.”

“Yeah, I got my hand chopped off, but now I know what to watch out for so the other one isn’t lost,” Myungjun replied.

She groaned, but Myungjun was too elated to let her worries stop him.

**☼ ☼ ☼ ☼ ☼ ☼ ☼ ☼ ☼ ☼ ☼**

Wando County was gorgeous. And perfect. And relatively cheap, in terms of rent. There was a lack of nice seafood ramen restaurants, and a lack of young restaurant owners. There was a hardy population to feed, too. All in all, it was perfect.

But Myungjun didn’t know how to even go about finding Jinwoo.

What was he supposed to do, look under every crevice and every crack? Annoy each person at the docks until a familiar face appeared? Put up signs and billboards begging people to come forth with information?

He had been foolish.

So damn foolish.

Bin shook him. “Wake up,” he ordered, “we have to catch the boat back inland.”

Myungjun didn’t move from his spot. His arm throbbed. He felt his phantom hand grasp at the sheets of his hotel bed.

“What am I doing?” he asked.

Bin didn’t respond, so Myungjun repeated himself. “Bin, what the hell am I doing?”

“Figuring out where to put your restaurant,” Bin said.

“You know that isn’t what I meant.”

“What do you want me to say, then? You’re trying to find Jinwoo, someone you lost five years ago.”

“My life is pointless.”

There was a beat, then Bin said, “What?”

“I...I won’t find him, will I?”

“No.”

“I thought I would. I seriously thought that I’d run into him, out of the millions of people who live in South Korea. I thought I’d run into him. I thought that fate would bring us together, maybe. I’m…” He grit his teeth down. He was stupid.

“I think,” Bin started, “that maybe now that you’ve realized your plan was...unrealistic, then...look, I think you need to forget--”

“Why can’t I?” Myungjun asked, desperate. He picked his head up and looked at Bin. “Why is...why is it so hard? Why do I still want him? Why isn’t my love going away?”

Bin sighed. He looked tired. He ought to be; he had to deal with Myungjun’s obsessive love.

“I’m pathetic,” Myungjun whispered, flopping back onto the bed. He buried his face into the pillow.

He was stupid and foolish and pathetic.

**☼ ☼ ☼ ☼ ☼ ☼ ☼ ☼ ☼ ☼ ☼**

“Back at the gay bar again,” he fussed to Dongmin as he sipped his drink.

Dongmin shrugged. Beside him, Minhyuk ignored everything, choosing only to text on his phone. Myungjun knew he was texting Sanha. Minhyuk was useless at bars if Sanha wasn’t around.

“I don’t think I want to be here,” Myungjun stated.

Dongmin raised an eyebrow at him. “You can always go home.”

“I don’t want to be home, either.”

“Then what do you want?”

The answer was obvious; _Jinwoo_. But it had been six years. Myungjun wouldn’t put his friends through that again. He had supposedly gotten over his ex-boyfriend. He was coming here to meet someone new. 

He stood up. “I’m going to get more drinks. You guys want anything?”

“Beer,” Minhyuk said, ever the lightweight.

“Whatever mixed drink looks the fanciest,” Dongmin replied, a smile on his face. “And I want _you_ to come back here with some guy’s number.”

“I didn’t catch that last part,” Myungjun responded, then he turned and left.

The bar was a bit crowded. Myungjun was short. He had to push his way through. He ordered his drinks quickly and then waited.

A guy beside him grinned and leaned close. “Busy, huh?”

“Yeah,” Myungjun responded. The guy was tall and attractive. He had a dorky smile. It reminded Myungjun too much of Jinwoo. Jinwoo had a dorky smile.

“Wanna hang out?” the guy asked.

Myungjun didn’t know what to say. Shouldn't he move on? Shouldn’t he find someone else? Shouldn’t he date someone else?

He glanced back at Dongmin, who nodded encouragingly in his direction.

“Alright,” Myungjun said. The guy beamed. Myungjun left the drinks on the bar for Minhyuk to grab ten minutes later as he half-heartedly began a conversation with Cute, Dorky Man.

Cute, Dorky Man made out with him and squeezed his ass and Myungjun left, feeling absolutely nothing but frustration.

He hated Jinwoo sometimes for ruining him.

**☼ ☼ ☼ ☼ ☼ ☼ ☼ ☼ ☼ ☼ ☼**

“It’s looking really nice,” the young girl commented, eyes scanning the interior of his restaurant.

Jiwoo, her name was. She was perky and bright and cheerful. Myungjun had to stop himself from calling her _Jinwoo_. 

“Thanks,” Myungjun replied. “I mean, it’s got character!” He gazed around his restaurant. It was still in development, with boxes everywhere and the dining room only half set up, but already it looked far better than most other restaurants around town. It was something new and interesting. He knew he was going to make a big splash in the restaurant industry in Wando County.

“I think the locals will like it,” Jiwoo, a local herself, stated. “If you go with fresh fish from the docks, especially. My uncle works down there, you know.”

“I didn’t know.”

“Of course you wouldn’t,” Jiwoo giggled. 

Myungjun smiled, too, feeling far happier than he had in years. 

It was partially thanks in part to Bin and Dongmin, who had recommended to him a therapist.

“I already have a therapist,” Myungjun had grumbled.

“A physical therapist, you idiot,” Bin had responded.

And, thus, Myungjun went to therapy. He talked out his feelings to a neutral party. He began to understand that he no longer needed to blame himself, or Bin, or Dongmin, or even Jinwoo.

He had healed. He had forgiven. He had moved on.

But he had no time for dating, not when he wanted to open up his restaurant. He chose Wando County, because though it had initially been a place to hunt down his ex-boyfriend, he had grown to love the small island. Tourists often visited, interested in the famed fishing industry and in the beautiful sights it had to offer. Locals were craving something new, too.

Plus, Myungjun had found the sweetest and most charming waitress-to-be on the planet.

It helped that her name was similar to _Jinwoo_. That was what caught Myungjun’s attention in the first place.

She stared at him still, hopeful and nervous. Myungjun knew it was difficult for a young girl to find jobs. Jiwoo had chosen not to go to college and had been working at the donut shop that had stood here before it closed down. She lived with her family but felt like she had to do more.

Myungjun was excited to offer her the chance.

“So,” he said, his smile now turning into a grin, “I hope to have it opened by next month. I also hope to have you as my first employee.”

She squealed and nodded her head, bouncing up and down on the balls of her feet.

“Of course!” she accepted. “I’ll gladly accept! I won’t let you down, Mr. Kim!”

“Oh, god, just call me Myungjun.”

“Alright!” she giggled.

Myungjun felt light. He felt free. Nothing was going to ruin him now.

**☼ ☼ ☼ ☼ ☼ ☼ ☼ ☼ ☼ ☼ ☼**

He surveyed the docks with exasperation. There was so much going on, so much to look at. The markets opened just nearby, a hustling and bustling place where fishermen could sell their wares to the locals. Makeshift booths were set up here and there; more often, tables were scattered about. Small, dead, forgotten fish lay on the ground, squished to bits with heavy boots. Birds circled the area, diving down every so often to try and snatch an easy dinner. Men and women called out names of fish, prices, and specials.

Myungjun, a city boy, knew he had to get used to this.

He strode forward, trying to act as if he belonged. He stopped at one booth and smiled at the hardened, grizzly man. 

“Hey,” he greeted. “Can I have some cod, please?”

The man grunted; a confirmation, Myungjun supposed.

“How much ya want?”

“Uh, just...seven killograms, if you don’t mind.”

The man grunted again and began to weigh out the fish. As he did, Myungjun’s eyes flitted about to different sights.

And then, for the briefest of seconds, he swore he saw Jinwoo’s face amongst the crowd.

He blinked. It couldn’t be. It had been several years now. He had moved on. He was imagining things.

But, god, it did look like him. Short stature, big nose, small eyes -- was it Jinwoo? Was his mind just playing a trick on him? 

Hope gripped at his heart. Youngsoo had mentioned Jinwoo wanted to be a fisherman. Had he truly come to Wando County to live out his dreams? Had Myungjun really just seen him?

“Forty-two thousand,” the man selling him the cod blurted out.

Myungjun came back to reality. No, it wasn’t Jinwoo. It couldn’t have been. He turned to the seller.

“That’s expensive,” he commented.

“You’re from Seoul, hm?” the man asked.

“How’d you know?”

“Accent.” The man gestured. “You’re used to buying cheap shit in Seoul, I reckon. Not here. This is freshly caught. Any fresher and they’d be breathing. You’re not used to this. You’re just a city boy--”

“I get it,” Myungjun breathed, working on pulling his wallet from his pocket. He had to utilize his stump arm, and the man watched him closely. “Forty-two thousand--”

“You lost a hand?”

“Yeah. Here.” Myungjun passed over the money. The guy continued to openly stare.

“How?”

“Accident,” Myungjun lied, which is exactly what he told everybody.

The guy pursed his lips. He saw through the lie. Well, so did everybody except for Jiwoo. Poor, sweet, naive Jiwoo. She trusted him too much.

His fish was wrapped and placed in his outstretched arm. Myungjun curled it into his chest and smiled. “Thanks,” he said.

The guy nodded his head. “Come on back if ya need more,” he encouraged.

“Oh, I will. Trust me.”

Before he left, he looked one last time for Jinwoo.

Nope.

He really was just seeing things.

**☼ ☼ ☼ ☼ ☼ ☼ ☼ ☼ ☼ ☼ ☼**

The test recipes had gone well. Jiwoo enjoyed each and every one of them. Myungjun wrapped some up for her, too, and placed the leftovers in a bag.

“Don’t you want any?” she asked, shocked with the amount of free food she was getting.

“Nope. I live alone, so I’d never eat this. But you have a family to feed.”

She laughed. “I suppose that’s true. Thanks, Myungjun!”

He let her leave, though she wanted to clean. He could clean himself. He appreciated the help, he said, but he only had a few dishes to wash. She didn’t push too hard, and she skipped merrily out of the restaurant.

Myungjun, true to his word, finished cleaning in record time. He closed his shop and stepped outside, smiling at the little sign he had made.

 _Opening Soon_ , it said. His drawing of an octopus was, in his opinion, adorable. He liked to draw. He was happy he had the chance to do it for his business, even if it would be torn down in a few days for the grand opening of his restaurant.

He stood by the bus stop, bundled up against the cold, his favorite scarf around his neck and his favorite beanie on his head. He stuffed his mittened hand in his pocket and shivered, glancing up and down the empty street.

He quite enjoyed living on an island. As far as it was from home, it gave him a chance to breathe. He felt freer. He felt happier.

The bus pulled up. Myungjun hopped on, scanning his bus card and looking for an empty seat.

There were plenty.

But there was also Jinwoo.

Myungjun stood still, his heart beating heavily in his chest. Jinwoo had not yet noticed him. Jinwoo, instead, was gazing out the window, eyes so forlorn as they looked at _Sunshine_ , at Myungjun’s shop.

He still remembered. He still thought of Myungjun. He still…

Oh god, he was real. He was there. He wasn’t a figment of Myungjun’s imagination. He was _right there._

Myungjun felt in his pocket for the familiar yellow gloves that he always took with him to work, just in case his hand got cold. He never did wear them. He only wore his mitten. He only stared at the damn gloves. Jinwoo was supposed to have them. 

Jinwoo was supposed to have _him_.

The bus began to move. Myungjun lurched forward before catching himself on a pole. He swallowed nervously and walked forward.

One step. Two steps. Three steps. Four steps. 

He neared Jinwoo. He wanted to break down and sob. How had this happened? How had they met again like this? On the bus? Same as last time?

 _Fate,_ he reminded himself. _Fate, fate, fate_. Oh, he must have done something right in his past life.

Love filled his chest as he stared upon his ex-boyfriend. He looked the same, albeit older and more tired. He looked...less pale, at least. His hair was black, a normal color. He was filled out more, not as skinny. He was…

He was perfect, and Myungjun still loved him.

Myungjun sat down.

He held out the gloves.

Jinwoo stared at them, then his head shot up and he looked at Myungjun.

“Take...take the gloves,” Myungjun urged, feeling a lump in his throat. “I think you’ll need them more than I do.”

Jinwoo still didn’t wear gloves. What an idiot. A stupid, terrible idiot. A bastard. A coward.

The love of Myungjun’s life.

Jinwoo looked ready to cry. There was fear in his gaze, but there was also hope and relief and love.

“Sunshine?” he whispered.

And _oh_ , how Myungjun had _longed_ to hear that name uttered with Jinwoo’s sweet voice. His heart leapt in his chest. He was flying, flying, flying. He was better than ever before.

Jinwoo was safe. Jinwoo was alive. Jinwoo was well. Jinwoo was _here_.

“Jinnie,” he greeted. His voice wavered more than before and he blinked tears out of his eyes even as his lips turned upward in the widest grin of his life.

He found Jinwoo.

He was content.

**Author's Note:**

> hit me up on my twitter page [@vonseal](https://twitter.com/thevonseal) for spoilers and general nonsense.


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